Some People Say I've Got The Blood Of The Land In My Voice

I am still trying to work out why I ended up in New York for a few days. Anna told me there would be a whole roomful of fingerless leather gloves for me if I came, and another a whole ballroom of collars. I, of course, jumped at the chance. I didn't really jump- I perched on my tip-toes, looked down condescendingly at whatever was below me, and what was below me was a fax machine and sheets of paper, so I glared condescendingly at the fax and sheets of paper then said "yes" to Anna. When I got to New York I found out that this was a set-up to get me to attend an event they call "Fashion's Night Out". I said to nobody in particular- "but every night is a night out for fashion, no?" Nobody in particular replied- "yes, but not for the proles. Think of it like this, Karl- it is fashion's V for Victory".

"Is there a war going on?" I said.

"Uh...well", said nobody in particular. "People are losing their jobs and uh.."

"They're definitely losing their jobs" said someone else.

"Definitely" said nobody in particular. I said I'd find it more interesting if say, Paris was attacking New York with giant bottles of wine and cheese, and fashion's night out was a sort of defence.

"It can be, if you want it to be" said nobody in particular.

So I went around this "fashion's night out" giving the V for Victory sign with my hands. Somebody asked if I knew Klingon.

"Klingon?" I said.

"You know, Star Trek-"

"Ah, yes. My favourite television series. If I watched television."

"Your favourite television series if you watched television?"

"Well you see, I don't. But I'm sure it would be a favourite. I'm a big fan of men in tights."

"Sir, you are thinking of Batman" said an annoying PR lackey from my office.

"No, definitely Star Trek" I said. "Do they have Star Trek here?"

"Let me ask Anna.."

I probably attended some dinner, though I attend so many dinners it's hard to keep track. Do you know that most people eat at least three times a day? That's 21 dinners a week. I don't know how some people do it, frankly. I try to attend at least one dinner a day, but often these things are so boring, you know- "oh Karl! Karl! Karl!", and hideous sycophantic people who, I believe, inject themselves with preservatives every morning. You can tell if they inject themselves with preservatives or not- if you leave them out in the kitchen for a few days and they're not growing mold, they have preservatives in them. We keep Chanel staff in the fridge over night. Actually, that's why I'm not showing the "Karl Lagerfeld" line at Paris fashion week- our fridges broke down and all the staff grew moldy and out of date. Demode, you could say.

Anna is alive.

Hello adoring public.  I am back at my desk after a weeklong sabbatical, spent in Karl's new closet.  The Chanel sofa in there is very comfortable.

Anyway, one of my assistants told me that there were photographers all over my stand-in at Fashion Week.  With telephoto lenses and such.

Obviously, I am not using her again.  You might say she almost looked...  mortal.  How demode.

I am, of course, perfect.  Immortal people never wrinkle.

I fired everyone involved.  It felt good - I haven't fired anyone in a week.  That's a new record.  The longest time had been six days, after I fired the assistant that runs between the Art Department and my office.  You see, the idiot tripped on my new Chanel rug and beautiful half-finished pages of Vogue flew everywhere.  Vogue is not permitted to touch the ground or any unclean surface.  I was simply doing my duty as protector of the realm of Vogue.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to tell an assistant go to Hermès and buy 500 white scarves.  I use them to blot my lipstick.

Dance of the Hanged Men

Anna isn't actually bothering going to NY fashion week this year. Instead she's got a replacement actor to act as her for the entire duration of it. (How very Andy Warhol of her, hmm?).

So we're hanging upside down in the closet, drinking our respective drinks. We might venture out to see Marc's show, but I don't know about that. He's very milk-and-cookies. I bet he has his milk and cookies every night whilst reading this blog, hmm? Thinking: how can I copy Karl today?

And then he doesn't send me tickets to his show. No matter, though. We can just walk on in, and sit down. Maybe we'll sit on the runway and I'll listen to one of my ipods if the soundtrack's not good.

I mean, I'm Karl Lagerfeld. Nobody will stop me, hm? They'll just stand back and look scared as this defrocked priest, this pope of the stylish, this god of fashion walks past. Then, of course, the groupies will occur. They always do. I cannot have a bath without groupies coming up through the drainpipes! This will slow down the show by a couple of hours as I hold court.

I think it's atrociously rude that nobody sent me tickets to this "New York Fashion Week". Although, we all know the reason, hmm?

They're all scared of what the Kaiser will think. It's like a adult's tea party- you call them "charity dinners", I believe. This is really just an extension of this- with a bunch of adults playing dress up, hmm? "Oooh, what will Karl think if he saw this? Would he even allow us to call it fashion?". 

So the goal is to keep me away from the hideous atrocities the New York kids call fashion. 

This isn't to say all New York fashion is bad. Some of it is quite good, hmm? But since I have X-ray vision behind those dark French-government engineered glasses, I can see your underwear. I see everything. 

To quote Rimbaud's poem "Dance of the Hanged Men":

"On the black gallows, one-armed friend,

The paladins are dancing, dancing
The lean, the devil's paladins
The skeletons of Saladins. "

Which is how I think about NY fashion week, or at least when Anna's laced the Coke with something a little stronger, hmm?

Reply to Vidal, NZ, and Chanel

Vidal- Anna is loyal. Look at the Chanel tattoo on her back. She would not dare to defy me. Some of my enemies read this blog, and they know how my revenge tastes.
I think she would be out of a job- she works at that magazine place- if she jumped ship to Prada. Of course, Anna will write a post confirming her loyalty to me soon. Won't you Anna (Yes you will).

I love all you readers. Maybe. Well, I love some of you, hmm? I'd love you more if you gave me plane tickets and tickets to the NY fashion week shows. My collar is ready, hm?

Especially the New Zealanders. How chic. Karen Walker scares me, though, hmm? She came to the Chanel HQ once and looked out of place so we had to remove her. We do this to anyone who does not fit into the Chanel look, hmmm? We have a human-forklift. To remove humans, of course. Not made out of humans. No, that would be boring. Plenty of other houses already do that.
We use quilted metal.

NY? Tickets? Where?

Where's my New York fashion week tickets?
Really.
Where are they?
I know some of you have tickets you can give me, hmm?

Tick Tock

Karl is still waiting for his New York fashion week invites. Also for any other invites to things that are chic. Karl does not like waiting.

NY fashion week

Children, Uncle Karl wants to write about New York fashion week.
Send me invites, tickets...that sort of thing, hmm? Accommodation and plane tickets would be good too. Karl does not pay for these things.
Email me if you can help with this, creatures. And you will become one of the favoured ones, one of the beautiful. You will be free from being demode. And we will see posts about the shows and all that, hm?

fakekarl@gmail.com is the email, as always.

Love,
Karl